The Color of Skin
by BubblyxDucky
Summary: Little America can't understand the color of his skin.


A bright smile crossed the young boys face as he lifed his hand up, offering a small doll to the figure before him. He'd worked quite hard on the doll, weaving every strand together just as mother had taught him with corn he'd husked relentlessly just for that purpose. Oh, he was so excited! The strange visitor in the silly robes would love it. The little blonde couldn't wait to see his face light up from the gift. Moments passed, and the boys smile quickly faded as he retracted his hand.

Dark, dull, cold eyes set on him. A deep frown stained the lines of the strangers face and his eyebrows quirked in the most quizzical look he'd ever received in his life. He'd never forget it for as long as he lived. The look of pure disgust and hatred received for no rightful reason. The young boy stood frigtened - unsure what had caused this in the first place. The much older and taller man looming over him simply stared with that godawful look, until the child reached for his hand desperatly. Parting his tiny lips to speak, the elder quickly recoiled his hand and hissed; looking exactly like the diamondbacks he'd played with in the woods.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" He scoffed at the frail child, shoving past him with the same look of disgust. Staring at one of the soldiers to his left, he spoke in that deep, looming voice once more. "Someone get this vile savage away from me." The bitterness in his voice struck the small blonde like a knife to the heart. His eyes widened in disbelief as he shivered, feeling the cold brute that had been ordered shove him down to the side.

"Leave, vermin."

Hearing the voice strike once again, like a cowered animal, the child took off - leaving everything behind him. Doll dropping to the ground, he let the trees hide him, he whimpered away. He hadn't even stayed long enough to see the mans boot stop the frail doll he'd cherished.

Fleeing as fast as he could into the forest, branches and thorns stuck and smacked his skin, leaving a trail of crimson as they dragged. After running for what seemed like miles, the child flopped down onto a rotted tree and sobbed. Hot tears welled down his face, smearing the red paint marks on his face. He couldn't quite understand what he'd done to the foreign man and his soldiers, all he'd known is he seemed to be something they hated. It wasn't often they had visitors in this land. Mother had always told him that sometimes, people from lands far away didn't understand the Earth like they had, and they were motivated by greed to take what they wanted.

It had taken several hours, but the young boy had made it home to his village. Although he knew the woods and forests like the back of his hands, he'd startled himself into getting lost. When he'd finally made his way home.

He stood for several moments staring, unable to move. Paralyzed in horror, the young boy stared at the bright orange glow that engulfed his home. If this were any other day, he'd say it looked beautiful. The oranges and reds covered the land - and it looked like the sun setting on a clear night. The bright colors sparked and roared, sounding like the great bears he'd been taught not to anger.

The fire took over and the only thing that he could hear ringing in his ears over and over were the piercing screams of agony from his people. His blood cried out in pain along with the voices of his loved once. Who could do such a thing..?

The young boy peeked out from the tree he had been hidden behind. His stomach coiled as he stared at the scenes playing out. The men in the bright red coats blended in well covered with blood and flames. They seemed to take the bright stones and anything that glittered or shined. Some of the brutes had even taken the women - the boy turned his gaze, he didn't want to look anymore. Falling in a broken mess on the floor, he sobbed. Harder and harder until he felt his insides burn, coughing and spewing up a mess of vomit that turned his stomach.

He wanted to go home more then anything. But, what kind of home was there to go back to? The blonde scampered off into the woods once more.

Home, home, home.

Where was home?

Several monthes had past and he felt as if he was being tugged into another body. Some very nice yet scary men (they seemed to be a couple - it was the strangest thing). They called one Su, and the other Fin. Although they fed the young boy and seemed to coax him near, he was still very uneasy of him. Another longer haired man joined the group after just a few days - which started a tug of war between them.

They scrubbed him clean, trimmed his hair, and washed every drop of dirt and paint from his face and chin. He'd almost felt as if they were rubbing the skin off of his bones at times. Primping and priming him as a canditate for some sort of game he wasn't even sure he was playing, the men fought constantly for him.

It was only a matter of days before another man had joined the battle for 'America' as he had been named. He didn't think a name or title suited him at all - he wanted to be free! His mother had always told him he was a special boy.

A thinner, shorter man with a soft smile cooed at him. Curiously, the boy stared blankly. The last he'd remembered those bushy eyebrows, they were glaring hatred through his bones. But as soon as his skin was cleaned white - he was a prize to be won. The blonde didn't know what to do. He wanted to run and scream and hurt the man until he was broken.

How could he be hated for the red paint and dirt staining his face, but when he was clean and dressed in white, a token to be fought for?

The boy hadn't the slightest idea.


End file.
